by Dave Warner
‘He told us all he knew. Call the station, tell Josh and Graeme to be ready for a takedown, vests and guns.’ He called Risely. ‘I’ve got an idea on where Crossland is heading. I need a plane.’
‘Of course. Where?’
Crossland had scored Mongoose Cole eccies. They were the pills he’d shown Hunter. Somebody, maybe Laughlin, had told him where they were sourced. Crossland wanted to buy those drugs to fulfil his orders but he wasn’t going out to Broome airport right under Cole’s nose. He wasn’t that stupid. Or, if he had been, he was lucky enough to have avoided every CCTV camera in Broome.
‘I think he’s going to the source of the drugs, Wyndham. One problem. We might be muddying the AFP case.’
‘Fuck the AFP. That’s not my response, that’s what the Commissioner is going to say because that’s what the Minister is going to say to him. That’s who pays our salary. I’ll warn Perth. How sure are you?’
‘Fifty-fifty.’
‘A hundred percent, good, that’s what I’ll tell the Commissioner.’
He was back wrapped in the familiar blanket of plane drone. The three of them plus the Wyndham lot should be plenty to nail Crossland. He’d not called Snowy Lane and felt bad about it. Lane was manic enough to swim through a crocodile-inhabited creek. Clement couldn’t risk him hiring a plane or chopper too and turning up in Wyndham as the bust was going down but he had texted him about the coroner’s discovery. Immediately after Clement called from the abattoir, Risely had alerted Wyndham to be on high alert for Crossland’s vehicle. A half hour into their flight Mal Gross had radioed to let him know the highway patrol had stopped the sExcitation bus near Sandfire. Clement had told Gross to get all details on the former dancer Kelly, check whether anybody from the troupe had heard from her since she’d left.
‘Let them go on to Dampier. Tell them I’ll be in touch.’
They were flying just inland from the coast, mangrove and crocs to the left, desert to the right. For a brief moment Clement was able to marvel at the fact he was the sheriff for this huge incredible area of land, a place the size of Ohio with waterfalls, desert dunes and mudflats. He drifted for a while, not asleep but in contemplation. He thought of Marilyn. He lusted for Louise. He lusted for Marilyn. He thought of Louise. He imagined wartime aircrew on bombing missions flying low over occupied territories, their own death just a puff of smoke away, the death of others at their fingertips. He felt himself in their bomber jackets, reeking of nervous cigarette puffs in the bracing chill before boarding, considered their desire for a girl they’d met at a dance and fondled in an underground shelter while London burned, imagined their indecision, the girl back home in Iowa, the English girl won easily with a box of assorted chocolates. He wanted to equate his mission with their wartime reality, knew it was self-serving, dissembling, but he forgave himself this much: he had never strayed from Marilyn, never would have; his moral question was whether he had any right to censure his ex-wife while he pined for Louise or, on the flipside, courted Louise while he pined for Marilyn, even though it was hopeless, even though …
‘Clem.’
It was Graeme Earle nosing towards the pilot, who held the radio out for him. It was Mal Gross again. He could not hide the excitement in his voice. Crossland’s vehicle had been spotted just outside of Wyndham’s main drag at a camping site. Clement told him to tell the locals to keep their distance. The last thing he wanted was Crossland running and some siege or shootout developing. He passed the message on. The tension exuded by Earle and Shepherd ratcheted up a notch. He checked his watch: 2.30 pm. A thorn pricked him. It was too early. He hadn’t expected Crossland till maybe 4.00 or 5.00. Could Crossland possibly have got from a creek near Derby at 6.00 am to here in that time? It was a nine hundred k drive along the Gibb River Road. He had to start in scrub. Over a hundred k an hour might be viable on a major highway but here? It jarred. So did the fact the vehicle hadn’t been spotted on the Gibb River Road. Surely that was the only way he could have got here in anything like that time. They had eyes everywhere along the road. Yes, he might have diverted off-road through bush but he couldn’t have maintained that speed. Perhaps the vehicle at the creek had nothing to do with Crossland? He parked the thought, went neutral for now, contemplating the catch. It had to go smoothly.
‘Vests on,’ he commanded. Shepherd and Earle complied and checked their weapons.
They landed and taxied to where a local cop, a uniform sergeant in his mid-forties, waited for them by his car. Graeme Earle knew him of course. He knew every cop in the Kimberley. The sergeant’s name was Stevenson. They piled in. Stevenson talked as he drove.
‘DS Warren and DC Penny are waiting up by the road leading to the caravan park in an unmarked, as per your instruction, sir.’
Clement asked if there were any other roads to or from the park.
‘Nope, she’s the only one. The campground is on the river so that’s the only way out to the north. I’ve got a couple of my boys in civvies pretending to be fishing.’
Earle laughed at the ‘pretending’. ‘That’s all these blokes do up here. Stevo here caught the biggest bloody grouper I’ve ever seen.’
To the east and west of the campground was bush. That would be the only way out but all the roads were covered. Crossland was ultimately going nowhere.
It took them about ten minutes to reach the campground road. They passed two vehicles. It was a beautiful day, gums stretched tall for the sun, which was lowering itself but still heating the town to around thirty degrees Celsius. Shepherd, who was drumming his palms on his knees as the expectation built, asked how the weather had been.
‘Beautiful cool nights, low twenties. Perfect,’ said Stevenson.
Clement spied the unmarked police vehicle up ahead, off the road under a shady tree. Stevenson pulled alongside. Clement and the local D’s wound down windows. Clement had met them a couple of times before, so no introductions were necessary.
‘The car hasn’t moved.’ Warren was the driver and the closer to Clement. ‘He’s in a small unit, front door, back door.’
‘How many people in the complex?’
‘Seven units hired and about six tents pitched. Looks like around half are out. I make it ten civilians, including the owners and staff.’
‘Follow us in. We’ll go to the front door. You guys take the back. You might want to get your vests on now.’
They climbed out of their car and did so. Clement heard birds twittering. It seemed out of context with flak vests and handguns. When the Wyndham cops were ready and back in the car, Clement gave the signal. Stevenson rolled forward slowly with the locals behind. The ground was low-lying right by the riverbank. There were caravans and a number of discrete small units built in a log cabin style. Each unit was about fifteen metres from the next. The car was outside number five. They pulled in quietly either side.
He was almost resigned now. Everything would be determined by Fate. He’d done his best, waiting through the night for his opportunity. He should not have fallen asleep but he couldn’t change that. Whatever cordon they might have established had been too late to get him. He’d circled around in a big loop making better time than he had thought. And now here he was again, alone. He was hungry. He remembered he’d grabbed a packet of cracker biscuits the other day to eat while he waited for the thief. Where had he put them? His brain was all over the shop. His backpack. That’s right. He walked over to the backpack, unzipped it and pulled out the crackers. In the end he’d only eaten a couple, he’d been too nervous. When he put the backpack down he noticed a weight in the front flap. Frenziedly he unzipped it and reached in. He shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and joy. There was his iPod. He ran his fingers through his hair, stupid, stupid, him. All that for nothing. It was going to be okay after all.
Clement positioned himself in front of the door. Shepherd and Earle flanked him, hands on their weapons. There was a shuffling, then the door opened. Before him, a confused expression on his face, stood a shirt
less, shoeless Crossland in a pair of dirty shorts. His hair was matted and his eyes red around the rims. He reeked of dope. Clement could see into the small room. There were no other occupants. Some clothes and a backpack were strewn on the floor. Was this the face those girls saw in their last moments alive? Up until now Clement had been able to imagine nothing but a shadow, a monster carefully and artfully rendered more terrifying by the suggestion of his presence rather than his physical form, a human Jaws. But all Clement saw here was yet another selfish loser. Crossland seemed to eventually take in the vests and weapon readiness.
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Shane Crossland?’
‘Yeah? What’s going on?’
‘I’m Detective Inspector Clement of the Kimberley Police. I’m arresting you for theft.’
‘What?’
‘The phone of Chelsea Lipton.’
Crossland pointed at Shepherd and Earle. Spittle flew out of his mouth.
‘This is bullshit. Over a fucking phone I borrowed?’
Clement had heard them all, a thousand times over. ‘There’s also intent to supply drugs. Come on, Shane, let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.’
Crossland’s eyes were full of resentment and veiled threat. That was a look Clement had seen a million times before: the instant when they realise you have them. He’d either lash out now or put down his head like a lamb.
Meekness won. Crossland’s head bowed. He allowed himself to be shuffled towards the vehicle by Shepherd and Earle. He was muttering something about the hire car. Clement didn’t hear. He was listening to the bird chirping again in preparation for the soft fall of dusk.
CHAPTER 31
I woke, then heard the hotel phone ringing beside me and realised it must have been the catalyst. The red display on the clock said 4.20 pm. I’d been out like a Von Steiger brother after Mark Lewin had applied the sleeper hold. It had to be Clement, they’d found Crossland. I grabbed for the receiver, missed and knocked it off its cradle. It clattered on the dressing table and I had to haul it in like a fish.
‘Me.’ I said it short and quick as teen sex. I was expecting Clement’s voice. I guessed he’d called me on the mobile and I slept through it.
‘Snowy, it’s Alex Mendleson.’
I’m ashamed to say it meant nothing at first. Then I oriented. ‘Yes, Alex.’
The words swarmed around me. I got the gist: police had stopped them on the highway, she’d called Clement. He was too busy to take the call but the Sergeant had asked about Kelly. Had she been in contact, what was her full name, where did she live? And so on. All he would tell them was they were trying to eliminate her from an inquiry. After the policeman rang off they’d tried calling Kelly’s phone but there was no response at all. She’d had a terrible sense of doom then. She’d remembered an article in the local paper about a woman’s body found in the desert. She couldn’t think straight. She questioned the other girls: none of them had heard from Kelly since she left. The last time Sierra spoke to her, Kelly had said her ship had come in and she’d be heading overseas. There was talk of ten thousand dollars.
I had the impression Alex was driving. While she talked, I checked my mobile. There was a long text from Clement: the desert corpse had traces of tattoo ink on the lower left leg. Alex was still talking.
‘I remembered you said you were at the Mimosa. I want to hire you, Snowy, find her or find out what happened to her. I’m tough, but this … she’s not a bad kid. I rang her mum, she’s in Perth. She hasn’t heard from her in nearly a month. Normally she’d call her mum every couple of weeks. She thought she was with me.’
I asked her to try and calm. ‘Look, Alex, I’m not totally in the loop but I can tell you what I know. The body of a young woman was found in the desert. She probably died around the time of the Hedland show.’ I heard her gasp. ‘She was approximately Kelly’s height and there were traces of tattoo ink on what was left of her left leg.’
‘Oh my God, Kelly had a dolphin tattoo. It’s her, isn’t it?’
‘I think we’re looking at pretty solid odds.’
‘Is it the guy who took the photos? I’ll kill the bastard. The girls told me he offered them drugs. They only just came clean. Teagan and Briony took pingers. They didn’t say anything before, they didn’t want to get into trouble.’
My brain was two-timing. Clement knew how important it was to speak to Alex. If he was too busy it could only mean he’d located Crossland or had a hard lead.
‘Did they say if they saw him with Kelly?’
‘Wait a second. Teagan.’ Her voice rang shrill in my ear.
Teagan’s voice came on the line, shallow. ‘Hello.’
‘Teagan, you got drugs off the guy I pointed out in the photo?’
‘Me and Briony.’ Dropping her mate in right away.
‘And Kelly, did he give her drugs?’
‘I don’t know. She was hanging with the girl you showed me. He might have.’
‘Did you see her with any drugs?’
‘No. We kind of went back to our room.’
‘With the guy or on your own?’
‘He tried.’
‘So he didn’t come back?’
‘No.’
It was like trying to feed a cat a pill. ‘Did you see Kelly speaking to that guy?’
‘I don’t remember. We went back to our room. He might have gone back to the party.’
I asked to speak to Briony. She made Teagan sound like Geoffrey Robertson. But her answers were the same.
‘Where did he give you the drugs? At the party?’
No. He’d been waiting at the back door of the stage.
In turn I spoke to all the girls. Sierra and Dana both confirmed what they’d told me before: they didn’t specifically remember Crossland speaking to any of them – they’d only just found out about the drugs he’d supplied the others. All they remembered was that he’d been lurking.
‘With Kelly? Think.’
As usual, Sierra was the most productive.
‘Kelly was hanging with the girl whose picture you showed me, and the Asian dude in the suit, for quite a while. Then I’m not sure. I lost track of her. Then I saw her in the loo. She said, “Don’t tell A” – that’s what we call Alex – “I’m quitting.” I told her she was crazy. She said, “I’m getting big bucks. I was going to quit anyway when we got back to Perth and it’s what I’d make in a month.” We get two grand a week so it had to be real big bucks.’
If only I had the legs.
‘What kind of girl was Kelly. I mean, how did she see herself? Ferrari, Hollywood …’
‘No, that’s more Teagan or Briony. Kelly was, I don’t want to say up herself, that’s not fair, but she would buy Vogue and talk about investment properties. You know, I think that kind of rich New York thing, a lot of class and style, oodles of money, a husband, children, horses to ride.’
‘Did you see her leave?’
‘No. Dana and I had enough, we went to bed. Some of the bar staff were there, you could ask them.’
Dana’s memory was no better. I was thinking of the Autostrada case. The girls were there, then gone. Crossland could easily have crossed paths with Caitlin O’Grady. Emily and Jessica were known to him. What had he told Kelly? We can travel Australia, go to Bali for a break. He probably showed her the cash he had from dealing drugs. He was likely flush. Don’t tell anyone. I could hear him now.
Dana was still on the line.
‘Was Kelly into drugs at all? Buying, selling?’
‘Not in a big way. She’d snort a line of coke if it was offered.’
I asked for Alex back.
‘You’re not going to like it,’ I said.
‘She’s dead.’ She was trying to prepare herself.
‘The man in the photo is a person of interest in a homicide.’ I wasn’t going to blow Autostrada. I imagined her smoking, trying to hold it together at the wheel of a rattling mini-bus. ‘This one is out of my hands but Dan Cleme
nt is as good a cop as I’ve seen. I’m sure he’ll call when he gets the opportunity.’
We talked on for a few minutes, saying the same things over. We rang off eventually, unsatisfied with reality, unable to change it now. The girls couldn’t place Crossland and Kelly leaving together. They’d mentioned pub staff being at the afterparty. Maybe one of them could? But the cops would speak to them soon enough.
Although … if they’d been taking drugs would they spill to a cop? All that was needed was somebody to admit to seeing Crossland and Kelly together after the party broke up. Of course, I had no business with this, except I had. I’d fingered Crossland seventeen years ago and been treated like a Carlton supporter in the Collingwood cheer squad. Clement was good but his role would be diminished from here on. The Commissioner was the same cop who’d cocked up the first time. I didn’t trust task force cops I’d never met. I thought back to how they’d missed the video of the van parked at the cemetery when I’d thought it was that SAS guy. I was going to see Caitlin O’Grady got justice. Might Ingrid Feister have seen anything? She’d been at the afterparty. I tried her phone, got a voicemail and left a message asking if she could call me. Then I did the same with Max Coldwell for the same result. I wondered if they were talking to each other now, if the romance had been rekindled. I had a brainwave. I checked my file and dialled Giant Resources in Port Hedland.
‘Angus Duncan, please.’
‘He was up at Tenacity Hill. I’ll see if he’s back.’
The guy who answered didn’t even ask who was calling. After a minute, Duncan came on the line. I told him it was me.
‘Hey, Snowy, good to see Ingrid return safe and sound. How can I help?’
‘I’m not sure you can but I thought I’d try. That night of the sExcitation show, there was a fellow there … I’ve got a photo … I’ll send it through in a minute. Anyway, one of the dancers has gone missing. They thought she’d up and left but it’s possible there was foul play. I’m trying to establish if they left together.’